And for this crowding to and fro,And thud and roar of wheels and feet,Were elm-trees and the linnet’s trill,The little gurgles of the rill,And breath of meadow-flowers that blowEre roses make the summer sweet.‘Twas long ago; ’twas yesterday:Our peach would just be new with leaves,The swallow pair that used to layTheir glimmering eggs beneath our…
And the wind-gusts hurtle the torn clouds by,On to the south through a shuddering sky,And the bare black ships scud aloof from the land.‘Tis as like the day as can be,When the ship came in sight that came never to strand,The ship that was blown on the sunken sand—And he coming back to me!Oh the…
Each of them a perfect soul,Song and sweetness manifestThe bird and flower we love the bestSide by side on the tall tree.‘Flower who art sunlight and fire, flower who art perfume and joy,Sweetest of sweet,Ah for the gift withheld!Ah for the given gift’s alloy!Why must thy spirit exhale only in beauty and breath?Ah for the…
I loved it well, I had but one.Then summer-time was done,The wind came and the rain,My lily bent, lay low.Only the night-time sees my pain—Alas, my lily long ago!I had a rose-tree born in May;I watched it burgeon and grow red,I breathed the perfume that it shed.Then summer-time had sped,The frost came with its sleepMy…
Bent to be it knew not where.It had no rest in delay;And for its haste it had no aim;Wherefore go? But wherefore stay?Here and there led both the same;By any winding it could makeNear its secret goal it came.When it reached the crystal lakeIt knew its aim and found its rest;All the miles were for…
She looked and hated the sky,Yet knew not what was her ill.Ah well-a-day!For the lonely May.She tired of weeping, and slept;Who woke her up but the Sun?And joy and love had begunTo teach her why she had weptOh bright new dayFor the startled May!
Lies are pitiful and kind,Honey-soft as Love’s own tongue:Let me, love, lie so.Lies are like a summer wind,Wooing flower-buds to unfoldLies will last while men are young.Tell thee truth, love; no.Let me, sweet, lie so.Lies are Hope’s light ministers,Footless birds upon the wing:Truth’s a name for plodding care:Tell thee truth, sweet; no.Truth’s the east wind…
the workings perfected, the life in it;and there’s the flaw again, the petty flaw,the fretting small impossibilitythat has to be made possible.To work!so many more months lost on a wrong tack;and months and months may so be lost again,who knows? until they swell a tale of yearscounted by failures. No time to sit downwith folded…
Beats at the boulders in its hindered bed,And fills the valley with its triumphing sound.The strong unthirsty tarn sunk in deep groundHas never a sigh wherewith its wealth is said,Has no more ripples than the May-flies tread:Silence of waters is where they abound.And love, whatever love, sure, makes small boast:‘Tis the new lovers tell, in…
The trees are barren when the summer’s lost:But one tree keeps its goodness all the year.Green pine, unchanging as the days go by,Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky:My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine,‘Tis spring, ’tis summer, still, while thou art mine.
